#Frozen Confection

[buffetlicious]

Colleagues know that me and mum love frozen desserts. We have eaten those fish-shaped taiyaki ice cream from Chateraise and love it. They informed me about the Samanco Ice Cream Sandwich (S$8.10 for a pack of 4s) on sale at our local NTUC supermarket. These frozen confections are made in South Korea by Binggrae and comes in quite a few flavours like strawberry, chocolate, red bean and the two below that I bought. The Samanco Green Tea & Red Bean Ice Cream Sandwich comes with matcha flavoured ice cream plus sweetened red beans. Outside it are two halves of wafer fish which is no longer crispy as expected.

The Samanco Mixberry Ice Cream Sandwich (S$8.96) is the latest available flavour so there is no discount for it. This taiyaki is filled with vanilla ice cream and a thin layer of mix berries syrup giving it a fruity tang. Between the two flavours, I much preferred the latter as the berries flavour is far more refreshing.

[pumpkingeorge]

I made these chocolate pies for Halloween. Small ones for snacking, and a full size for dessert!

[stone-cold-groove]

Vintage Wonder Bar frozen confection package.

[jejewonster]

Milk and Cookies

do you like my cookies? they’re made just for you. 𖥔. ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ࣪˖

❁  pairing: chwe vernon x f.reader ❁  genre: friends to fucking, aphrodisiacs, smut (MDNI 18+) ❁  wc: 1.8k

— vernon doesn't know how badly you want him. hopefully the chocolates you bought will help him see you differently.

❁  smut tags/warning: DUBCON, buzzcut vern, aphrodisiac chocolate is used to coerce vernon, dryhumping, penetrative sex, creampie, thigh fucking?, choking, reader is manipulative, reader acts like vernon's sexual advances are unsolicited at first. ❁ a/n: read my guidlines. don't like don't read. block me if this isn't your cup of tea. vernon is meant to have a buzzcut but i couldn't find a good pic to make into a banner :( sry! thank you to @sunniques for beta reading ♡.

it’s not your fault that your best friend doesn’t realize how much you want to fuck him.

despite how many times you’ve tried to make it obvious how badly you’ve ached for him to give you what you need finally, none of your plans have worked in your favour. 

“hey, you ready?” vernon calls out for you. 

after clearing your mind from your depraved train of thoughts, you turn to him from your kitchen to smile back at his awaiting figure that’s sat on your couch. leaning against the headrest, his arms propped up against the cushions with his legs spread. 

it doesn’t help that he’s agreed to your remarks on how good a buzzcut would look on him. the lack of hair on his head is new and exciting, and you wish to feel the buzzed hair graze against your inner thighs. 

“yeah, just grabbing a few snacks. gimme a minute,” you smile, although you can feel the way it doesn’t fully reach your eyes. 

taking the box of chocolates from the fridge, you made sure not to forget the most important component of your plan. if anyone had found out about your idea, they would call you insane, but you couldn’t care less. 

you’re not accustomed to being denied what you need, or what you crave either. it’s not your fault you’re tastebuds have been tingling for someone as sweet as honey. 

staring down at the chocolate box in your hands, a smile begins to creep onto your face. vernon won’t be able to ignore the undeniable sexual attention after this. 

the aphrodisiac-filled candy is cold in your hands, but in a few hours, it’ll be a warm memory of tonight’s events. 

taking your designated spot beside vernon, you hand him the chocolate. 

“here have one, i got it the other day and thought we could try them together,” you nudge the box of confections towards him. 

“sure. these look expensive as fuck? where’d you get them?” 

shrugging your shoulders you act as nonchalant as you can, “nowhere special, just some place downtown.” 

𖥔. ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ࣪˖ 𖥔. ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ࣪˖

vernon’s skin is scalding. he isn’t sure what the hell is wrong with him, but his body temperature has gotten higher with every passing second. there’s an ache in cock that he’s so desperate to release but there’s no way he’s going to be able to go to the bathroom with the situation he’s in. 

with you beside him on the couch, the two of you shifted into a position where you’re both lying down facing the TV. the sounds coming from the screen are nothing in comparison to the pulse that rings in his ears. 

one arm is placed securely around your waist, legs tangled along the cushions. you’re way too close. close enough that he can feel the way your tiny sleeping shorts leave nothing up to the imagination. the curve of your ass is pressed tightly against his growing erection. vernon is a hundred percent sure you can feel how hard he is right now, yet he’s still frozen in place, not wanting to reveal his dirty little secret even further. 

sneaking a peek at your face, your eyes are still trained on the movie, but vernon can’t handle it anymore. he needs to do something. anything. 

it’s like a shot to his chest, you squirm under his grasp and if he wasn’t so aware, a groan would’ve left his lips. instead, he sucks in a breath, doing everything in his power to create the smallest bit of distance between you. 

“hey, are you feeling warm?” he asks you, trying to distract himself from the way the blood is draining his body and rushing into his semi hard on.

“no, not really? are you okay?” you turn, eyes piercing into his soul. 

“a little bit,” he sighs, not realizing he’s been holding his breath this whole time. 

you stiffen up, and the smallest graze of your ass against him has his brain turning to mush. vernon is filled to the brim with confusion and frustration, and it’s even worse that he can’t seem to get an ounce of relief. not unless he wants to embarrass himself in front of the girl he’s been pining over for years. 

“i can go grab you some–v-vernon!” your sentence is cut off, vernon cannot have you standing up just to see how hard he is right now. 

“n-no it’s fine just–just stay where you are,” vernon breathes out. 

the look you give him is filled with confusion, but you do what he says anyways. 

“fine. let’s finish the movie first.” 

snuggling into him more, vernon’s breath hitches. self-control slipping away from his fingertips the more you situate yourself into a more comfortable position. he’s really starting to lose it now, whatever morals he had left were thrown out the window with his conscience. 

as if he’s being controlled by a puppeteer, his hips find themselves moving on their own. rutting into the crevice of your ass, the shorts bunching up to reveal the supple skin underneath. vernon’s brain is fogged with arousal and no matter how badly he feels for using you; the relief he’s receiving overrides every single one of the morals he’s set up for himself. 

“A-ah–vernon? w-what’s going on?” you whimper as he continues to grind into you. 

“i-i’m sorry. i really tried to ignore it, but shit, it feels so fucking good,” vernon groans from behind you. 

the nape of your neck is in front of him, and hides his face in it, not wanting to reveal the rosy blush sprawled on his cheeks. the friction between you two creates a tent to strain against his pants, his large hands move down towards your soft thighs. touching them with the softest of caresses, the heat of your skin radiates onto his palms. 

his fingers trailing up your skin, skipping the heat between your legs in favour of your breasts. the speed of his hips pick up and now both of his hands have you encased into his body. both of his palms grope at your tits over the thin fabric of your tank top. 

it’s as if he’s been put in a trance. no matter how guilty he feels, he can’t stop himself from defiling you. 

“i’m so sorry darling, i can’t stop,” he whimpers against you. 

“v-vernon, i’m not sure about this,” you speak up, but your ass is following his movements in tandem. pushing back against his hard member as he continues to grope you. 

“just give it to me, just this once. i’ll make it worth while darling,” vernon grunts against you. 

his hands move down once more, propping your thigh up to give himself access to where he needs you most. the other palm still tweaking your nipple, under your top this time. pointer finger and thumb rolling the sensitive nub till you’re putty in his hands. 

vernon’s attention moves back to your cunt, the thin piece of fabric from your shorts being the only thing in the way from touching you where it matters. if he knew any better, he would’ve thought you weren’t wearing panties for a reason. but the problem is, vernon isn’t thinking with his mind. his hard cock is making all his decisions for him. 

shifting the fabric aside, he is finally able to touch your bare pussy. your lips wet with arousal, slick and ready for him. he groans into your ear, peppering kisses along your neck as he rubs your clit. you moan against him, and he can practically feel you vibrating against his body. 

there’s a whine that leaves your lips as he recoils his fingers away from your hot cunt. 

shifting behind you, vernon frees his cock from his sweats. there’s a breath of relief between all the hot tension. finally. 

“you’re fucking soaking. tell me you don’t want this ‘cause i’m not stopping,” vernon groans, not even allowing you to answer back. 

he slips his dick between your slippery folds before forcing your thighs closed once again. the head of his length is bumping into your clit as vernon begins to hump into you sideways. 

“n-nonie, f-fuck, p-please,” you moan out between your pleas. 

“jesus christ, darling, tell me how good it feels,” he grunts into your ear once more. 

“your dick feels so good, a-ah, fuck, fuck, fuck, keep going please,” you beg him, synchronizing with his movements. 

vernon is drunk on lust. the sounds of your squelching pussy fill the room and the sound alone is dizzying. he picks up his pace, the coil in his abdomen starting to tighten. he wants to be inside you, he craves it. 

“keep those legs open for me baby,” vernon mumbles. 

your hand goes under your knee, propping your one thigh up. vernon shifts slightly, his pulsing cock in his palm as he lines himself up with your entrance. the tip slides against your wet pussy before his tip is shoved into your tight hole. 

you visibly tremble, and vernon thrusts up enough to bottom out inside you. the arm you're using to hold you up gives out, but vernon is quick to replace it with his own. slapping his hips into you, he holds your leg up to give him room to continue fucking you. 

“tightest pussy ever, holy fuck,” vernon practically drools. 

your walls are gummy, and so soft. the heat of your cunt engulfs the whole entirety of his cock. it motivates him to continue pistoning into you until his balls begin to squeeze. he knows he’s close but he doesn’t want it to end. as if he can go on for hours drowning into the heat of your tight pussy. 

“you fill me up so well,” you whimper, craning your neck to catch his lips. 

vernon kisses back, tongues tangling with one another as the two of you are practically eating each other faces off. you jolt with every thrust vernon gives you, the hand that was groping as your tit moves to grip your neck. fingers squeezing at the sides to cut off your airflow the slightest bit. 

the muffled moans that leave your lips are vernon’s breaking point. your pussy clenches around him the harder he squeezes your neck and it’s enough to send him over the edge. 

gasping into your mouth, vernon’s hips halt as he spurts his cum into your hole. the semen overflows and coats his cock with the mixture of your arousal and his own. 

“i’m sorry, you didn’t even cum yet,” vernon pants against your lips. 

“it’s fine. i’m not ready for this to be over yet anyways,” you breathe out, cheeks flushed. 

vernon looks into your eyes, the glint in your pupils unmissable. what the hell did you put in those chocolates?

❁ a/n: thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did hehe :3

[iheartmira]

I have a small request for Shadow Milk Cookie, either in-universe or self-aware SMC is fine. Can we have a short dabble about Shadow Milk loving his SO's accent? Like hearing it is enough to make him melt and just indulge in it for hours when they chat with him? (I live in the south of the USA and my friends say I have a very thick southern accent.)

"sweet words" - shadow milk cookie x reader

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧︎‬

for once, shadow milk cookie was utterly still. or rather, he was enraptured. enthralled. his hands gripped the edge of his seat, his sharp-toothed grin frozen in place, and his eyes fluttered half-lidded in delight. why? because you were speaking.

oh, that voice. that accent.

he had heard tongues twist and curl in all manner of ways, but yours… yours was divine. each word was a confection, each inflection a tantalizing trick upon the air. he could listen forever. no, he would listen forever.

his grin softened. not into its usual razor-sharp smirk, but something looser, unguarded. he was melting, sinking, drowning in the symphony that was your voice. "phah! do you realize what you’re doing to me?" he drawled, legs crossing as he twirled his staff absently between his fingers.

"truly, it’s almost criminal." his voice was playful, but the way his pupils dilated betrayed something deeper, something ravenous.

you continued speaking, unaware of the way his gloved fingers twitched, itching to pull you closer, to keep you talking, no, performing, just for him.

"ohhh, dear, please, please... say that again." shadow milk cookie practically draped himself over the arm of his chair, gazing at you with stars in his mismatched eyes.

"no, no, better yet, tell me how much of a nuisance i am! berate me, scold me! but make sure you enunciate~."

another word from you, another strike to his heart. a sharp gasp left him, and the invisible eyes in the shadows around you widened. he melted right then and there, sliding off his chair in dramatic ecstasy, clutching at his chest as if struck by an arrow.

"go on. say something more. you must!"

his breath hitched as you obliged. oh, he was undone.

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧︎‬

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[strangererotica]

Look at this Greek god disguised as a humble scooper of frozen confections…

[jxerv]

shikamaru x fem!reader, high school universe, fluff

masterlist

IT WAS Valentine's Day, and the air was thick with that sweet scent that only industrial quantities of chocolate could leave behind. The classrooms at Konoha High were a festival of pastel colors: pink, red, white. Handmade paper hearts hung here and there from the open windows, swaying gently in the light breeze that slipped through the hallways like a whisper.

Couples exchanged glances between classes, slipping into hidden corners to steal quick kisses before the bell dragged them apart. The more creative girls showed off confections that looked like they belonged on the cover of a baking magazine: cookies, cakes, chocolate bars decorated with star-shaped sugar sprinkles. The boys received them with a mix of pride and embarrassment, awkward and clumsy, some blushing all the way to their ears.

And then there was [Y/n].

Sitting on the subway that morning, she clutched the pink bag in her hands like it was a sacred relic. The white bow was a bit crooked, but she had already fixed it three times before leaving the house. The chocolates inside — small, dark, no frills — were bitter and intense, just like the ones her mother used to make only for special occasions. And this was a special occasion.

She had spent hours melting the chocolate in a double boiler, tempering it to perfection, pouring it into leaf-shaped molds — a detail she hoped he would notice. Every movement had been made with one clear thought in mind: Shikamaru Nara.

Him, always sitting by the window, eyes turned to the sky like the world exhausted him more than it should. Him, with that messy ponytail, his tie never quite right, and a brain far too brilliant for ordinary conversations. He was the student council president, sure, but he seemed to hate every second of it. And yet he was the first to show up at assemblies, the first to break up a fight, the first to defend someone who couldn't defend themselves.

That was what [Y/n] had always admired.

He wasn't just smart. He was kind — in the way only someone who truly understood how hard life could be, could be.

That day, as soon as she stepped into classroom 3-A, her heart stopped for a second. Shikamaru's desk was a scene of its own: a small crowd of girls surrounded it like bees around flowers. Each one with a different package, a trembling smile, an excuse to linger for just a few more seconds near him. Shikamaru, as expected, sat there with slouched shoulders and half-lidded eyes, looking like he'd rather be hit by a truck than go through the moment.

"Tsk, how troublesome..." he muttered, slowly stacking the packages in a corner of his desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

[Y/n] stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, gripping the bag so tightly the plastic crinkled under her fingers. The courage that had carried her from home to school instantly crumbled. Of course Shikamaru would get so many gifts. It was obvious. He was him. And she... she was just one of many.

Without a word, she walked to her desk in the last row, right behind his, lowering her gaze as if she could disappear between the lines of the floor. She sat down, still holding the bag, but now it felt like a foreign object. A pink thing too alive for such a trembling heart.

The girls' voices around Shikamaru grew shriller, and every now and then he replied with a distracted monosyllable, his tone as flat as the summer sea.

[Y/n] bit her lower lip, tasting the metallic edge of nerves. How stupid... she thought. Two years of watching him from afar, of inventing conversations that never happened, of imagining that maybe, one day, he'd look her way. And now that she'd finally decided to take a step... was it too late?

The clock above the blackboard read 8:11.

The bell would ring in four minutes.

Four minutes to decide whether to act or stay seated, once again, watching him from a distance.

The pink bag, resting on her knees, felt as heavy as a suitcase full of dreams.

And then something happened.

Shikamaru turned around. Just for a moment. But long enough for his eyes to meet hers.

It wasn't a long look. It wasn't an intense look.

But it was a direct look.

And [Y/n] held her breath.

The lunch break bell rang with its usual metallic echo, spreading through the hallways and dissolving the last words of the teachers. Students poured out of their classrooms with hunger in their eyes and the kind of energy that came with feeling free — at least for those forty minutes.

Like every day, [Y/n] followed the usual path that led to the garden behind the school, a wide, open space where the grass grew thick and soft and the trees offered shade and silence. There were corners filled with chatter and laughter, and others more peaceful, like the one she and her friends always occupied, under a large cherry tree still bare of blossoms.

Sakura was the first to sit down, carefully opening her bento decorated with little cherry designs. Ino lay back on the grass, propping herself up on one elbow, while Hinata gracefully arranged her lunch on a floral napkin.

[Y/n] slowly opened her bag, placing it beside her, but for some reason, her eyes kept drifting back to the small, untouched pink bag tucked carefully into the inner pocket. It was still there. Still. Despite the promises she had made to herself.

"And then, when I gave them to him, he looked at me for a second and smiled!" Sakura was saying, her eyes glowing with triumph. "You have no idea how rare that is!"

"Well, considering he's your boyfriend, I'd say it's the least he could do." Ino laughed, teasing her with a mischievous smile. "Sasuke's always so mysterious, but at least he's not rude. Unlike someone else I could mention..."

Hinata giggled softly, bringing a hand to her mouth, and then, with sincere timidity, turned to [Y/n]. "Speaking of chocolates... have you given yours to Shikamaru yet?" she asked quietly, almost as if afraid of being too forward.

At that moment, Sakura and Ino turned toward her at once, as if they had all just remembered — at the exact same instant — the little plan [Y/n] had confided in them a few days earlier.

"Right!" exclaimed Sakura, leaning in slightly. "Didn't you say today was the day?"

[Y/n] felt herself sinking into the grass. An embarrassed smile crept onto her lips, and she blushed so hard her ears felt like they were on fire.

"No, I mean... not yet." she replied, lowering her gaze a little. "It's just... there were so many girls this morning, and he already looked so stressed. I didn't want to add to the pile."

"Pile? Oh, come on!" Ino protested, crossing her arms. "You're not like the others. You actually thought about your gift. You made bitter chocolates! Nobody thinks about things like that."

[Y/n] gave a faint smile, staring down at her hands. There were still traces of cocoa under one fingernail, despite washing them several times.

It was true. She had thought through every detail. But thinking had never been enough.

A light breeze moved a few strands of her hair, while the tree's shade protected them from the midday sun. And it was just then, as she was about to speak, that something caught her eye. Or rather, someone.

Not far from them, lying on the grass as if the world could wait, Shikamaru was staring at the sky. His hands behind his head, one leg bent, and that peaceful expression — somewhere between boredom and deep thought — that he wore so naturally. He wore his school uniform in his usual messy way, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, jacket tossed beside him. And he looked utterly at peace. Detached from everything.

[Y/n] stared at him for several seconds, without even realizing it.

Every now and then, a cloud passed overhead, and she tried to follow its shape, just like he did. There was something in the way he existed in the world, like he had already figured everything out and decided it wasn't worth getting worked up about. Like he could see beyond it all.

A voice pulled her back.

"You're down bad." Ino whispered slyly, leaning toward her and giving her a playful nudge in the side. "You're looking at him like he's a steak."

[Y/n] jumped, bright red, and tried to laugh, but it came out more like a strangled sound.

"N-no I'm not!" she lied, terribly.

Sakura giggled softly, while Hinata lowered her gaze, smiling quietly. Their warmth was something simple, something real. The three of them were true friends, and even if they loved to tease her, there was nothing but affection behind their words.

Feeling exposed, [Y/n] tried to change the subject, struck by an idea as awkward as it was fast.

"And what about you, Ino? Did you give your chocolates to Sai?" she asked, desperately trying to redirect the attention.

Ino raised an eyebrow at her. It was obvious she knew exactly what [Y/n] was trying to do.

But she went along with it anyway.

"Oh, I definitely did." she replied, casting a theatrical glance at the sky. "Even though at first he looked at me like I was trying to poison him."

The laughter was immediate. Sakura laughed until she bent forward, Hinata covered her face to hide, and even [Y/n] burst into genuine laughter, almost relieved.

"Sai doesn't get romance at all." Sakura said through her giggles. "But at least he ate them, right?"

"He ate all of them." Ino confirmed proudly. "Then he said they were 'nutritionally balanced.' I felt like a nutritionist in that moment!"

The girls kept chatting like that, jumping from one topic to another, between laughter and confessions, while the tree's shadow slowly stretched across the grass.

What none of them noticed — or perhaps only Hinata, with her quiet sixth sense — was that just a few meters away, lying as always in his suspended world, Shikamaru would occasionally open one eye.

And his gaze — slow, lazy, yet precise — would settle exactly on [Y/n].

The afternoon opened with a clear sky and a light breeze that made the air almost bearable, despite the sun beginning to make its presence felt. P.E. was one of the least loved classes by most of the students, especially when it meant the infamous dodgeball tournament — which wasn't really a tournament, more like a chaotic war disguised as a 'group activity'.

The gym was already full when Class 3-A entered, the echo of their footsteps on the wooden floorboards amplified by the high walls. The neon lights, cold and sharp, made each colorful ball lined up along the sidelines gleam. [Y/n] quickly tied her hair into a ponytail, trying to ignore the insistent pounding in her ears.

The teacher, with the tired look of someone just waiting for the day to end, divided the class into two teams. Names were called out one after the other, and when she heard hers.

"[Y/n], red team" she turned toward the classmates who would be on her side.

And there, like a small sign from fate, like a string being pulled once again between her and the boy she couldn't stop looking at, there he was.

Shikamaru.

Leaning against the gym wall, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the ceiling, he looked like he'd been dragged there against his will. His name had been read out just after hers, and that could only mean one thing: they were on the same team.

[Y/n] felt her heart do a somersault.

The court was divided with yellow lines, the balls placed in the center like mines ready to explode. The students began warming up — some stretched, others were already joking about the game. She, on the other hand, tried to gather her courage, thinking that maybe this could be the right moment.

Maybe, before the game started, she could walk over to him. Exchange a few words. Make him laugh with a silly joke. And — who knows — maybe ask him to hang out after school, even just for a walk, even just for five minutes.

Five minutes with Shikamaru. That would be enough for her.

She spotted him from afar. He had sat on the edge of the court, still wearing that bored expression that always seemed to say: Why am I even here?

[Y/n] chuckled to herself. He was almost endearing, in his constant disinterest in everything.

She took a deep breath, adjusted her gym shirt, and took the first step toward him. The second was easier. The third, even more so.

"Hey... Shikamaru?" she began, her tone soft, uncertain but full of hope. He turned slightly, one eyebrow raised.

She was about to speak, to ask the question that had been trembling on her lips for hours.

Would you like to meet after class?

I have something for you.

I've been thinking about you.

But right at that moment, a voice boomed through the gym: "Go!"

A sharp whistle cut through the air like a blade.

And before she could even process what was happening, an orange ball came flying out of nowhere and, like it was guided by some divine force with a terrible sense of humor, hit her square in the face.

The sound was clean, dull, almost comical.

Her vision went dark for a second, her legs gave out beneath her, and she found herself on the floor, sitting on her butt, one hand pressed to her nose, while a wave of voices rose around her.

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

"That was Karin! She threw it too hard!"

"I didn't do it!"

"Someone go get the teacher!"

"Oh no, is she bleeding?!"

[Y/n] opened one eye. Everyone was looking at her.

Her head buzzed a little, but it wasn't anything serious. Her nose was throbbing, sure, and the redness probably wouldn't fade before evening. But what hurt the most, more than anything, was the knowledge that, once again, the moment was gone.

Her cheeks burned, but not just from the hit. She couldn't tell if it was the pain, the embarrassment, or the disappointment. Or maybe all three, mixed into one bitter, messy cocktail.

And yet, she smiled.

Not one of those bright, perfect, confident smiles. But one of those smiles you make when you realize that, despite everything, your heart needs to laugh about it — just to keep from falling apart.

She looked up at the ceiling for a second, then closed her eyes.

I give up.

Shikamaru walked through the nearly deserted school corridors with a slowness that had become, by now, an integral part of who he was. One hand buried in his pants pocket, the other lazily lifted to cover his mouth as a silent yawn stretched across his lips.

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and the golden, muted sunlight filtered through the large hallway windows with an almost unreal calm. Shadows stretched across the shiny floor like soft silk ribbons, dancing lightly with every step.

It had been an especially tiring day, even by his standards. And not because of tests or quizzes, but for something even more exhausting: Valentine's Day.

A colossal nuisance.

Every year it was the same story: chocolates, cards, pink packages with too many bows and glitter, compliments whispered by girls hoping for a glance or a kind word. And that was the thing — he always had to be careful. Always. Not to be rude. Not to snap. Not to look annoyed, even when he was.

What a drag...

He had spent the last hour talking to two teachers, trying to resolve some logistical matters for the student council. The only thing he wanted now was to go home. Sink into the peace of his room, maybe lie down on the futon and stare at the ceiling until dinner.

But first, he had to grab his bag.

The classrooms were already empty. In the late afternoon, the school had a particular kind of stillness — like every word, every run, every laugh of the day had dissolved into the air, leaving only the soft silence of footsteps on tiles and the faint creak of windows.

He opened his classroom door with a slow motion. And that's when he saw her.

Sitting at his desk, head resting on her crossed arms, was a girl fast asleep.

[Y/n].

For a moment, Shikamaru stood still. His eyebrows barely raised, his gaze attentive.

The warm afternoon light brushed her hair, making it shimmer with honey and gold tones. It looked like strands of light scattered across her shoulders and the desk like soft feathers. Her expression was peaceful, relaxed, almost childlike in her sleep. A lock of hair covered part of her face, and he couldn't explain why, but he found himself thinking she looked... cute.

Really cute.

He shifted his gaze.

On the desk beside her was a small package decorated with two bows: one white and one red. It wasn't over the top. It didn't sparkle, didn't reek of sugar. It was simple, understated. Almost elegant. A small note of calm in the chaos he'd had to endure all day.

And right on top of the package was a little card.

Shikamaru walked closer, almost on tiptoe. He didn't want to wake her. There was something about that quiet that he didn't want to break.

He picked up the card between two fingers. Opened it.

The handwriting was neat, rounded, with a small touch of exaggeration in the hearts above the i's. But not too much. It felt... sincere.

I really like you, Shikamaru. I wanted to give you these chocolates, but today the world seemed to be against me.

A small puff of air escaped his lips. A low sound, amused, almost a sigh disguised as a laugh. Then a lazy smile — one of those rare ones that only surfaced when something truly managed to surprise him — curved his lips.

"So that's why you followed me around all day." he murmured, slightly folding the card between his fingers. He wasn't stupid. He had noticed. Those fleeting glances, the hesitant movements, the unnatural pauses when she walked past him. The way her friends pushed her with their eyes and she pretended not to notice.

He had seen her during the dodgeball game, too. That colossal mishap. He had winced, of course, but not in mockery. It had been more... sympathy? Curiosity? Yes, curiosity.

Slowly, as if wanting to savor that strange and quiet moment, he opened the package.

Inside, neatly arranged in two precise rows, were handmade chocolates. No glaze, no sprinkles. They were simple, slightly bitter, a little uneven. Perfect in their imperfection.

He picked one up. Examined it for a second, then brought it to his mouth and tasted it.

Bitter.

Exactly how he liked them.

He swallowed slowly, savoring the aftertaste as it melted on his tongue. Another smile brushed his face, more genuine than the first. Almost affectionate.

"Bitter, huh?" he whispered to himself.

He slowly sat down at the desk beside her, resting his chin on his hand. He stayed silent for a few seconds, letting the thoughts pass through him.

He had never really been interested in these things. Relationships, confessions, romantic feelings — all things he filed under unnecessary complications. He preferred strategy, logic, simple solutions. But he wasn't blind. He wasn't heartless.

He knew sincerity when he saw it.

And everything about that package was sincere.

He turned to look at her.

[Y/n] was still asleep, lips slightly parted, long lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks. She looked younger like that. More fragile. More real.

Shikamaru found himself thinking how brave she'd been. Maybe she hadn't said anything, hadn't made a grand gesture, but she had stayed. She'd left that note. She'd tried. And then she'd fallen asleep in class, as if the world could wait.

He stood up.

Pulled a blank slip of paper from his pencil case and his black pen.

He wrote just a few words, in his thin, slanted handwriting:

Thank you. The chocolates were good. Can we talk tomorrow?

No signature. There was no need.

He placed the note next to the opened package, leaving just one chocolate inside.

Then he grabbed his bag, cast one last glance at her — still bathed in the golden afternoon light — and stepped out of the classroom.

The hallway was still quiet.

Outside, the sky was starting to blush orange.

And for the first time that day, Valentine's didn't seem like such a drag.

wc: 3484

[doumadono]

GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

Itto

Itto would morph into a blushing tomato before he could muster the guts to ask for a kiss from you. His usual carefree swagger would crumble into a nervous wreck, and his words would stumble out like they were trying to navigate a maze of shyness. It looked as if his hand might quake with the sheer force of his own bashfulness.

“Y/N, can I...” he'd falter, the hesitation hanging in the air like a dramatic pause in a play.

“What's on your mind, Arataki?” you would inquire, catching on to his internal struggle.

Despite his attempts to play it cool, Itto's infatuation would be practically screaming. His eyes would linger on the curve of your lips, and the subtle, unintentional act of moistening his own would give away the unspoken desire within him.

But when the kiss finally happened, it would be nothing short of a tender delight. Itto would revel in the simplicity of a soft peck, as if it could light up his entire existence. The shy encounter would be etched into his memory, a moment frozen in time, but now, he'd carry it like a cocky badge of honor.

As the sweet exchange concluded, Arataki, now brimming with newfound swagger, would seize the moment to intertwine his fingers with yours, as if to say, "Well, that wasn't so tough, now was it?"

Wriothesley

Wriothesley, being the smooth gentleman he is, always manages to charm you into saying yes when he craves a little pick-me-up kiss. He's got this super sweet approach, especially when the weight of work stress is bearing down on him.

Sometimes, he'll straight-up ask, all sweet and innocent, "Y/N, my little sweetpie, could you give me a kiss?"

But then there are those times when subtlety is thrown out the window. Wriothesley would casually grab you by the waist when there's even a hint of an opportunity, pulling you close against his broad chest with a confident whisper, "Come and kiss daddy, babygirl."

And oh, those kisses! They're like an addiction you willingly succumb to. Sometimes, he's in the mood for a bit of teasing – a swift lick of your bottom lip, a taste that's enough to recharge his energy, leaving you slightly breathless and craving more.

Neuvilette

You remain appreciative that he confines these moments to the privacy of our home or when solitude envelops you.

Whenever the inclination to kiss strikes, his approach is marked by a profound passion, and the duration extends beyond mere seconds. It's as though he seeks to savor every nuance of your being.

When he needs it, he'll watch you intently for a while, whether engaged in scrutinizing others or engrossed in a case. Then, with a politeness that conceals a subtle demand, he would utter, "Kiss me, my love."

His lips, when they meet yours, carry the faint taste of candy. It leads you to ponder whether he perennially indulges in this confection, given the persistently sweet flavor that lingers in his mouth.

Zhongli

Zhongli, unapologetically, never shies away from asserting his desires, regardless of the setting. His kisses, a blend of demand and tenderness, are a testament to the assertive nature of the Geo Archon. In moments when he craves proximity, he doesn't hesitate to make his intentions known.

"Y/N, I want a kiss from you," he commands, the weight of his voice carrying a subtle dominance, a declaration of his desires that brooks no opposition. His hands, steady and firm, find their place at your waist, claiming it as if sculpting the very essence of intimacy.

Zhongli's kisses unfold with deliberate slowness, a deliberate dance that brushes his lips against yours in unhurried motions. The demand in his kiss, paired with the gentle exploration, creates a harmonious balance that reflects both his dominance and the depth of his affection.

Your compliance to his requests is wholehearted, a testament to your fondness for each and every one of his kisses. The unspoken understanding between you two only deepens the connection, allowing the echoes of Zhongli's dominance to resonate in the intimate moments you share.

Kaveh

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Kaveh beckons you with a sing-song voice, his lips playfully pouting as he calls, "Baby, come give me a kissy kissy, yeah?" Persistent and unyielding, he brushes off any attempt to decline, challenging you with a raised eyebrow and a daring smirk.

Refusing him is not an option, for Kaveh always presses on. He questions your love for him, provocatively asking if he's lost his touch as a kisser.

When it comes to stealing sweet moments, Kaveh doesn't shy away. He's not afraid to snatch a taste of any candy you hold between your lips. And as he leans back, a sassy smirk plays on his face, leaving no doubt about the intensity and seriousness he invests in each stolen kiss. "Mmm, sweetie, that was the sweetest kiss you've ever offered me!"

[armadoodledoodle]

some friends and i are doing a very silly multiplayer run of bg3. here is my tav, sweet treat abjuration wizard Dairy Queen Mint.

She gained sentience when an archmage true-polymorphed a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream. her original purpose (to inherit and proliferate a frozen confection empire) was cut short when she got tadpoled and was thrust unto the events of the story as a result

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Nu carnival x ftm period

Mentions of blood, general pain, dysphoria, and drugs

♦️Garu, Aster, Morvay

Yakumo

Boy is comforting by nature and he will do anything in his power to make you feel better. Warm soup, mint tea, any kind of comfort food; he'll make it all for you. If he needs to he will even fight the awkwardness and ask his grandma for advice on how to make “someone” on their period feel better. He knows better than to out you to anybody, even to the people he trusts most. He just wants you to feel better.

Edmond

He's going to need some help. He heard that people like chocolate when this happens so he gets you expensive chocolate confections from your favorite bakery. If he's not too busy he might make some with you. Quality time is important to him and he wants you to know he's here to support you even if he's too awkward to express it with words. He will make time to try and comfort you as much as he can but it will be in all non verbal ways.

Olivine

He will pray for your recovery. He sympathizes with you, he understands how much his essence imbalance hurts him so it makes sense that your hormone imbalance hurts you. It hurts him seeing you so uncomfortable and him not being able to help. He really doesn't want to leave you alone and it hurts him when he can't be by you to help. Even if it's simply grabbing something for you he wants to take as much of your burden as he can.

Quincy

Quincy is big and I think he's very warm too, especially his right hand because of the gem. He cuddles up to you and uses himself as a hot water bottle. Resting his hand on your stomach and letting you use him as a pillow. If you have any kind of mood shifts he takes it in stride. It kind of reminds him of dealing with a cat; wanting pets one moment and biting his hand the next. It doesn't bother him much though and it's nice having a grounding personality like his around while you wait out the pain. He probably offers some natural pain killers if it gets bad.

Kuya

He has a herb that he gives you to help. You don't know what the plant is but it helps. All the pain and discomfort are gone but it makes you feel weird in the head. You've tried finding the plant but no book or even Quincy knows what it is. Kuya just tells you not to worry about it and enjoy not being in pain. You should probably be more weary of him but the herb works so well that you can't really say no.

Blade

He freaks out when you tell him you're bleeding. He thinks you're injured and immediately goes into protection mode. You have to explain it happens to some guys monthly. That's satisfactory for his curiosity for now. It's best to just tell him what helps you manage pain. If you don't he will take the initiative to look up what will help…and he will want you to try the weirdest home remedies. So unless you want him asking you to put a frozen potato wedge cover in sesame oil in your underwear, I suggest being open with him very early. It's so hard to say no to his puppy eyes when he's just trying to help.

Garu

This gets a little weird so continue with caution. He smells it right before you start bleeding and it scares him the first time. It hurts your heart to have him look at you so worried for a week. You know he's just concerned but honestly it doesn't help the dysphoria at all.

Karu

He is confused. Normally if something is causing you pain he just breaks it. Like when you stubbed your toe on the table, no more table no more problem. However he can't just rip your guts out, that would just make more of a problem. He tends to keep his distance unless you give him a specific task, once the task is over he's going back to keeping his distance though.

Dante

He is no help. Honestly he has no idea what to do. Normally the guys he's around only bleed when they are stabbed, but at least he knows how to dress a stab wound. This however, is out of his league. When this time starts he will assign a personal assistant to you to help. They have full permission to get you literally anything you need. Dante doesn't want to know about periods and assumes you don't want anyone to know about yours either, so your assistant is also sworn to secrecy.

Rei

No help in the beginning. I don't think he's been around many AFAB people so you are going to be his first reference point. After this happens a few times though he actually figures out the best ways to help you. He will learn what makes you feel better in terms of painkillers vs muscle relaxers, he learns if any foods make you feel worse and avoids them. Yeah he treats it like an experiment but as long as it helps in the long run he doesn't think it matters. Also he memorized all the early signs and is fully prepared for when it actually starts. I'm not sure how skilled he is with a scalpel (or if you can trust him with a scalpel) but he may offer to remove the problem if you want.

Eiden

I think he's the only one on this list who truly understands how much this week triggers your dysphoria. He will do anything he can help physically, but he is also extra protective of your masculinity during this time. He will literally fight anyone who misgenders you, and makes sure to give you lots of compliments. “Y’know most guys can't handle pain as well as you do. I've even seen knights cry at the sight of a paper cut haha!” He's very proud of you and will make sure you know just how manly you are.

Aster

Also kinda nasty so read at your own risk…. “Free meal”. He uh, gets pretty excited when it happens. He tells you stuff like “you look so handsome today~” and other masc compliments but it's all a ploy to get in your pants. Honestly he's more pushy than Morvay is when you're bleeding. It's just that the constant smell of your blood is impossible for him to ignore. He helps with pain management but is really only invested in the clean up.

Morvay

He heard an orgasm helps with cramps… this is the only thing he will do to help, but being a service bottom he does it so well. He will bring you food in bed, let you eat, make you cum till you can't see straight and pass you, rinse and repeat for a week. He gets so pouty if you leave because “doctor Morvay” just wants to make you feel better.

[stone-cold-groove]

Vintage Dairy Cone frozen confection package.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Happiness ✧

Plot: Discovering Marley with a joyful eagerness, Eren can’t take his eyes off you.

The breathtaking expanse of this new frontier sprawled out in every direction as far as your awestruck eyes could perceive - a sight none of you conscripted scouts ever fathomed witnessing beyond those towering walls hemming your entire reality since birth.

Even as the rest of Levi's elite squad trekked grimly onward adhering to their regimented protocols during this unprecedented reconnaissance mission into the enigmatic lands of Marley; your footsteps gradually slowed to a meandering pace.

Every minuscule sensory detail flooding your awakened awareness with childlike wonderment unlike anything you'd known before now.

The vibrant colors alone radiating across those quaint thatched rooftops, cobblestone lanes and bustling market stalls erupted into a kaleidoscopic mosaic igniting your nerves with rapturous delight.

Such trivial sights taken for granted by the locals yet perceived like divine manifestations defying all previous boundaries constraining your world solely within those dreary monochrome walls.

You pivoted aimlessly soaking in each new marvel presenting itself with infectious glee sparkling through your captivated irises even brighter than the sun's gilded rays dancing across the rustic scenery.

From the sweet fragrant bouquets wafting through the brisk autumn zephyrs carried flavors utterly foreign yet blissfully intoxicating upon your virgin palate.

To the sights of children frolicking with that carefree jubilance you'd only witnessed glimmers of back home before the cruel realities thrust duties far too grievous for any youth to bear without being shattered under their karmic tonnage.

Watching those unburdened souls skipping about without any premature loss of innocence plastered a euphoric smile across your own features now shining with crystalline elation cascading freely down your flushed cheeks.

Even the humblest peddler hawking their exotic wares like some sort of sweet frozen dairy delicacy they called "ice cream" instilled raptures you never imagined possible beyond those oppressive constraints until now.

Eagerly exchanging a few meager coins from your supplies for that peculiar indulgence then wholeheartedly sampling the foreign confection for the first time:

Its creamy richness coating your palate evoking utterly saccharine waves of blissful tingles rippling across every single hypersensitized nerve ending flooding you with unequivocal revelry.

So much so that a few childlike titters even escaped past your reverent lips before you even realized it as your aura radiated incandescent jubilation that moment.

In fact, you'd become so thoroughly enraptured exploring this uncharted realm of wonders that the unmistakable presence of Eren Yeager silently accompanying your gleeful peregrinations had virtually slipped your consciousness entirely.

At least until sidling up conspicuously close enough for his trademark smokey baritone to caress the shell of your ear with a hushed timbre dripping equal parts bemusement and something more molten still blazing behind those emerald depths:

"Y'know, considering the gravity of our mission here...seeing somebody experiencing genuine happiness without inhibitions like this sure's one helluva rarity these days, ain't it?"

His murmur skated across your electrified senses still basking in those euphoric afterglow emanations even as the rigidly self-possessed Alpha scout gradually stepped into your peripheral vision.

The faint spectral aquamarine highlights coruscating through those disheveled chocolate locks framed that severely chiseled visage adopting his trademark impassive mask yet again...

...Well, almost.

For despite Eren's herculean efforts at refortifying that signature stoic exterior you couldn't help noticing the infinitesimal sparks dancing through the mossy jade pools where his razor focus remained transfixed upon your auras' jubilant interplay still rippling outwards.

Like he was savoring those ebullient kinematics stirring something primordial lying dormant within his resonance through the closest empathic proximity available.

Even still, the fleeting traces of mirth subtly crinkling the corners of those piercing emerald spheres conveyed wordlessly just how infinitely more precious such unabashed revelry had become in his existence defined by constant struggle and sacrifice of any frivolous indulgences amidst their neverending war against oblivion.

So despite fully knowing this temporary reprieve of jubilant exploration through Marley's streets didn't remotely align with their covert infiltration directive, Eren couldn't quite muster the stoic willpower to jar you from that liberated headspace yet.

Not when your uninhibited enchantment and reveries shone with the radiant hope he was fighting titanic battles to secure for everybody still suffering under that same oppressive despair they'd narrowly escaped beyond those walls...

[of-stars-and-fireflies]

V-Day 1 - Jin Kamurai

“What’s that sad-looking box you’re holding?”

Mina’s excitement evaporated. “It’s…chocolates…for Valentine’s Day…for you…”

Gravity crushed Jin like a hydraulic press. “…Oh.”

The confidence she had built leading up to this moment crumbled into dust. “S-Sorry…” She quickly spun on her heel, loosening her grip on the present. “I’ll just—”

“No, don’t throw it away. I’ll take it.”

Frozen in place, she turned back to see the uncertain look in his icy eyes. His lips were pressed in a thin line, held at an awkward angle that nearly betrayed his stoic mask.

He beckoned her with a hand. “Give it here.”

A smile crept across her cheeks, and she reluctantly handed it over.

As if trying to reinstate what he’d previously diminished, he delicately snatched the gift from her. Then, he spun it around in his hands, taking in the choice of packaging.

“I’m sorry, I should have gotten more for you…”

“No. This will suffice.” Curious, the ribbon confining the contents inside was discarded, and he peered at the shining confections.

Each chocolate was immaculate. Delicate snowflake patterns lined the surfaces, others with a snowflake design carved into the tops. One particular square chocolate in the centre had been carved with a stunning rendition of an ice-crafted crown. “...You made these?”

“I had help actually…I wanted to give you something worthwhile, so…”

“Help from who?”

“I initially asked Ruby, but Jiro ended up joining, and Yuri…gave moral support?”

His nose crinkled at the mention of Mortkranken, but he buried that animosity knowing it was in good faith. Plus, she hadn’t intentionally sought out anyone he had disdain for.

“...Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing.” A breath hefted from his nose, and he replaced the box lid. “The gift is appreciated. Thank you.”

Relieved by his approval, she beamed. “I’m glad.”

Suddenly, he turned. The jacket on his shoulders audibly rustled, flourishing through the air around him. “Bring me some tea to enjoy these sweets with.”

She gave a little sigh tinged with giddiness. “Yes, sir.”

“Make it quick. Don’t waste any more of my time today waiting for you.”

“Of course.”

[queserasora]

BEEL X FEM READER WORD COUNT: 2.4k CONTENT WARNING: a heavy handed dose of angst, some fluff, messy eaters together in a kitchen might be too much for some so here have a warning, also reader sits on the kitchen island which might be frowned upon by some, my grandmother would have a fit because asses are not for kitchen counters and she would have beat my ass for sure, kissing, and that's all i can think of A SUMMARY: Beel always feels particularly peckish for something sweet after dinner. He can't find the treat of choice in the fridge so Y/N offers up a juicy nectarine in exchange. Beel comes to terms with the changes inside him, and wonders why this new kind of hunger feels so familiar. He takes a risk.

For a long time, there had been something wrong with Beel.

A hunger that felt like more than just hunger. A hunger that was hard to explain, and was easily brushed off in between jokes and seemingly knowing glances between his older brothers. A hunger that threatened to eat away at him until there was nothing left, unless he ate back.

Lost in this sense of self preservation, Beel found himself in the kitchen with his head buried inside the open refrigerator. 

A sweet confection always pacified the hunger that seized him around this time of the evening. There was something about the way the cloak of the night grazed his skin that consumed him with melancholy. The bitterness loaded his mouth with words not spoken; things he wanted to bury and never think of again. If he ate–correction: devoured–it would all wash down his throat, to sit at the cemetery of his stomach.

Eating–correction: consuming–was usually a solitary experience for Beelzebub. It didn’t mean he ate alone. After all, he was always surrounded by his brothers all at once or separately. It was just that in the moments he pummeled food into his mouth, allowing his mind to go blank as he focused on the taste and texture of what he ate, was an adventure he hazarded into alone.

Just him and his thoughts, and the feelings in their respective tombs with offerings of food on their altars.

Tonight there was an anomaly. An honored guest with your name and your face. It unsettled him. He never shared food with outsiders. At most he’d let Belphie have a nibble of a sandwich because he worried his twin didn’t take in enough calories to support his body. Yet somehow you bested his logic. Yet somehow, sharing food with you felt different. It felt less like the disappointing sadness of splitting a double popsicle only for both to be holding on to empty sticks as the frozen juice melted on the ground. It felt more like separating chopsticks perfectly, the first perfect clean cut into a cake, blowing out birthday candles, the very first taste of your most favorite food.

It bothered him. He didn’t want to think about that either.

“Hmm,” he muses with a groan. “There isn’t any.” 

“There isn’t any, what?” you ask him.

You’re sitting on the counter, swinging your legs back and forth. You had slowly forgotten your manners the more time you spent in the Devildom. It was inexcusable, you knew. As it was, Barbatos and Lucifer could outmanner you, a human, any given day. It should embarrass you, and you know Lucifer would hold it above you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re too preoccupied with the way Beel looks up from the fridge with a frown. You recognize the tilt on the corners of his mouth, the darkening of his violet eyes.

“No pudding. I thought I had some left..” he trails off and tilts his head. His hand tucks under his chin pensively. The thoughts skew in his head but they don’t sort themselves into anything that makes sense. Did he eat it already? He could have sworn he was saving it. It bared its teeth and bit down–making his stomach ache. 

Beel places a large hand on his belly, and you watch him with raised eyebrows. If you didn’t find something to distract him with soon, he was going to go through the wall into your bedroom again. You raise your hands up cautiously, palms facing out.

“I highly doubt anyone else ate it,” you insist, not wanting to start another little war. Mammon and Levi were finally speaking again after eleven days of them giving each other the silent treatment. “I have something I can share with you if you want it,” you finish in a song and lean forward to peer at his face with a crinkled nose. He looks away from his feet immediately, and the color in his eyes lightens–two sparkling amethysts glistening at you. You know you’ve trapped his attention now, and you grin, baring down your teeth on it to keep it in place. “If you reach into the bottom left drawer, in a little bag are some nectarines. One for you and one for me.”

Just like Beel, you didn’t often share your food. It had been a trait you noticed in him that made you feel a certain kind of kinship. He was also the one to always utter the kindest words when you first arrived. Despite knowing better, you had allowed him to creep into your heart at a sluggish pace; a caterpillar eating away at the leafy core of your heart. You hadn’t figured out what to do with the hole his appetite left behind yet. You didn’t like to think about it. You didn’t want to think about it.

“Let’s eat!” you chirp, clapping your hands together hoping to spur him into action. 

Beel was always reliable. He followed your instructions without protest and pulled out the bag. The rustling of the plastic was starkly loud against the silent air wrapping tightly around your shoulders. Now that you had thought about it–the patch up job you had been putting off–you couldn’t get it out of your head. You saw it in the back of your mind when you caught sight of Beel’s forearms, the muscles flexing as he ripped the bag open. You saw it in his hand, the way his fingers concealed the fruit as he washed them. You saw it in his soft smile, crooked and almost shy, as he offered you a nectarine.

You felt it in the way your heart ached looking at him, a sickness with no cure.

Your fingers wrap around the nectarine sitting prettily on the crook of his palm. Fingertips graze his palm and he blinks up at you. A breathy noise gets stuck in his chest, and he remembers. He remembers the first time he shared food with you. His thoughts at the time had been simple. You looked frail, and sickly. He didn’t know much about humans, and admittedly, he still didn’t know much. It just felt like he should feed you lest you die in the devildom under what should have been the protection of his older brother. Lucifer would have been so disappointed.

Would he be disappointed at Beel now, as he couldn’t fight the smile when he watched you bite down on the nectarine? Would he find his eagerness to feed you, the way it didn’t feel lonely or invasive at all, disappointing? Lucifer made his distrust of you no secret. You had jumped to protect him and Luke despite the tremble in your voice. 

Lucifer’s anger had brought many to their knees. There were no bruises on yours yet. Beel wondered how long could you keep them that way.

There was juice dripping down your chin. He reaches out without further thoughts, and brushes up against it with a knuckle. “You’re a messy eater,” he says with humor in his voice. Beel brings the knuckle to his mouth and sucks the juice off. His fleshy red tongue curls around his finger as he makes sure not to miss a drop. The taste is sweet and sour, refreshing enough to inspire the goosebumps on his skin. He takes a bite off his own nectarine hoping to replicate the taste and feeling, but it’s off, incomplete, as he chews. A frown settles between two straight eyebrows. He watches you as a different set of teeth gnaws at the pit of his stomach, burrowing its way out from its ancient tomb.

A hunger that wasn’t quite the same hunger. A hunger with teeth and claws sharper and bloodier than before. For a long time, there had been something wrong with Beel. But this? This was something else. Something new.

You look so happy to be sitting there on the counter, sweet juices dripping down your chin again. His hand moves towards your chin but he forces himself to stop; to not taste one more time. He could watch you and feel satiated. He could watch you and feel full. He tells himself as you take another bite, and another. His nectarine is long gone, so he chews on the pit noisily. The clashing of teeth drags your eyes away from your own mostly eaten fruit. You look up to see Beelzebub watching you, frowning even as he chews.

“Is it not good?” you ask him. You tilt your head, curls moving with you. Beel swallows the scratchy remains of the pit. Your eyes are big and soft; soft like your hands. His violet eyes seek your fingers, squeezing the nectarine. They are covered in juice, and he sees a drop make its way down your wrist only to taper off somewhere in your forearm. He sighs in defeat, a slow agony burning in his chest. He wants to follow the path of that sticky drop so badly, he starts to feel sick.

“It’s good, but…” he hates to lie. He never sees a point in it, and much less with you; however, Beel knows this too: some things are better left unsaid. He knows this and yet: “It tasted better from your chin.”

A fuschia color, one that evokes images of brightly colored macarons, takes over the apples of your cheeks. He swallows, annoyed at the way he’s salivating at the mere sight. He wants to bite them just a tad, just a bit, just a little nibble. He wants to hold your face in his hands and feel their heat. Would it hurt? Would it burn? Even if it did, he wants to know. You rip your hickory gaze away from his. You don’t dare to comment. Instead, you focus intently on gnawing the remaining flesh of the fruit from its pit. 

Your lips are plush, and look so soft as they move around the pit of the fruit.They’re shiny under the neon lights of the kitchen, glazed with juice. You drop the pit on the top of the kitchen island you’re sitting on. One of your hands moves, you’re reaching up to wipe at your chin but Beel’s fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you from completing the task. 

“That would be a real big waste,” he murmurs, his tone so low you fear you misheard it but there was no mistaking the heavy heat in his eyes. There was no mistaking how he stared at your mouth until there was no breath left in your lungs. “Let me do it.” His breathing is broken by soft pants. It is something he tries to control. Beel leans forward and flicks his long tongue out. He drags it flat up your chin, collecting most of the nectarine juice. Unsatisfied with his job, he opens his mouth and sucks on the corner of your chin until the dried sweetness is gone.

Just like some things are better left unsaid, some things are better left untouched. The taste of your skin under the juice was new and nothing at all like he had imagined. Yes, it had been salty and delicious, but it did not satiate his hunger. It made it grow; fierce, bolder, more savage.

He is so close he can smell your breath. You’re panting too, and he sighs noisily, his arms slipping around you. Beel slams his hands on the counter behind your seat. You’re trapped in the cage of his heat. The nectarine smells even sweeter coming from his mouth. His eyes are on your mouth again.You swallow thickly.

There’s a drop of juice clinging to the corner of your mouth. You flick out your tongue nervously to collect it. Beel groans audibly, and curls his fingers into fists. The countertop is cold against the heated skin of his knuckles. He tries to focus on that instead of the festering hunger, the urgency to satisfy it, to fill his mouth with you. 

He has to kiss you. He just has to. Damnation was a game he was all too familiar with. What was another tussle with it, if not child’s play?

“Your lips,” he starts and finds the need to swallow almost immediately. He pushes down so many words that want to bubble up. “They make me wonder what you taste like.” His descent upon your mouth seems painstakingly slow. When his lips finally push against yours, you feel breathless. Your fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt as his tongue darts past your lips. He moves softly, exploring the inside of your mouth. He tastes the inside of your cheeks, and wonders what secrets you have tucked behind each molar. Beel curls his tongue around yours, a low hum thrumming between your shared breaths. He sucks on it with hesitancy. A fear mingles with his desire. He brushes it aside when he kisses you deeper, wetter, sloppier. 

His hands find the small of your back, and he crushes you against his chest. His tongue is relentless in its exploration, casting away inhibition for the sake of living in the moment. The sound of smacking lips, and sucking heat your body. Your hands slip around his shoulders, and slide up his neck. Your nails are long and they scratch his skin and scalp as you grab tufts of hair on the nape of his neck. Beel groans against your mouth, your lips now moist with his saliva. 

“This is good,” he says breathlessly against your cheek. He rubs the tip of his nose against it, before nibbling on it. You’re as sweet as you smell. “This is really good.”

For a long time there had been something wrong with Beel, but for now, he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice. You taste so sweet on his lips, on his tongue, he doesn’t need anything else for as long as you choose to stay wrapped up in his arms. When you hum against his kiss and hold him tighter, it feels as if you push through further than the depth of his skin. It almost feels as if you’re there, nestled inside his chest, waiting at the door.

For a long time, he thought there was something wrong with him but maybe he was just waiting for someone or something. Maybe he was waiting for you.

He hoped it was you.

[potatodonuts]

Hannibal food themed episodes

France 🇫🇷

Apéritif - Apéritifs are drinks, typically alcoholic, that are normally served before (apéritif) or after (digestif) a meal respectively. An apéritif is an alcoholic beverage usually served before a meal to stimulate the appetite, and is usually dry rather than sweet. 🥂

Amuse-Bouche - An amuse-bouche is a single, bite-sized hors d'œuvre. Amuse-bouches are different from appetizers in that they are not ordered from a menu by patrons but are served free and according to the chef's selection alone.

Potage - Pottage or potage is a term for a thick soup or stew made by boiling vegetables, grains, and, if available, meat or fish. It was a staple food for many centuries. The word pottage comes from the same Old French root as potage, which is a dish of more recent origin.

Oeuf - Egg. 🥚

Coquilles - Great scallops. In French, the mollusc itself – as well as a popular preparation of it in cream sauce – is called coquille St. Jacques. 🦪

Entrée - An entrée, in modern French table service and that of much of the English-speaking world, is a dish served before the main course of a meal.

Sorbet - Sorbet is a frozen dessert made using ice combined with fruit juice, fruit purée, or other ingredients, such as wine, liqueur, or honey.

Fromage - Cheese. 🧀

Trou Normand - The Normand Hole. Calvados is the basis of the tradition of le trou Normand, or "the Norman hole". This is a small drink of calvados taken between courses in a very long meal, sometimes with apple or pear sorbet, supposedly to reawaken the appetite.

Buffet Froid - A buffet froid is a meal served on a table for guests to help themselves. The word, as such, comes from the French buffet and originally referred to a sideboard used to store china. When a buffet includes only cold dishes, it is known as buffet froid, which means cold buffet.

Rôti - Roast.

Relevés - In the late 18th century, the practice arose of removing the empty soup tureens and replacing them with entrées de broche or other grosses entrées. The replacement dishes were commonly called "relevés", or in English, "removes". They were the last of the entrées consumed at the meal, although they were brought to the table immediately after the potages.

Savoureux - Tasty, savoury.

Japan 🇯🇵

Kaiseki / 懐石 - It is a traditional multi-course Japanese dinner. The term also refers to the collection of skills and techniques that allow the preparation of such meals and is analogous to Western haute cuisine.

Sakizuke / 先附 - An appetizer similar to the French amuse-bouche.

Hassun / 八寸 - The second course, which sets the seasonal theme. Typically one kind of sushi and several smaller side dishes. Traditionally served on a square dish measuring eight sun (寸) on each side.

Takiawase / 煮合 - Vegetables served with meat, fish or tofu; the ingredients are simmered separately.

Mukōzuke / 向付 - A sliced dish of seasonal sashimi.

Futamono / 蓋物 - A "lidded dish"; typically a soup.

Yakimono / 焼物 - Flame-grilled food (esp. fish)

Su-zakana / 酢肴 - A small dish used to cleanse the palate, such as vegetables in vinegar; vinegared appetizer.

Shiizakana / 強肴 - A substantial dish, such as a hot pot.

Naka-choko / 中猪口 - Another palate-cleanser; may be a light, acidic soup.

Kō no mono / 香の物 - Seasonal pickled vegetables.

Tome-wan / 止椀 - A miso-based or vegetable soup served with rice.

Mizumono / 水物 - A seasonal dessert; may be fruit, confection, ice cream, or cake.

Italy 🇮🇹

Antipasto - Antipasto is the traditional first course of a formal Italian meal. Usually made of bite-size small portions and presented on a platter from which everyone serves themselves, the purpose of antipasti is to stimulate the appetite.

Primavera - A primo is the first course. It consists of hot food and is usually heavier than the antipasto, but lighter than the second course.

Secondo - A second course (secondo), based on meat, fish, dairy products such as cheese, or eggs.

Aperitivo - The aperitivo opens a meal, and it is similar to an appetizer. Most people gather around standing up and have alcoholic/non-alcoholic drinks.

Contorno - A side dish (contorno) of raw or cooked vegetables, which accompanies the second dish.

Dolce - Dessert.

Digestivo - The digestivo, also called ammazzacaffè if served after the coffee, is the drink to conclude the meal.

Source: wikipedia

[dyxtd21]

Optimus Peppermint aesthetic moodboards!!

Optimus Peppermint:

Optimus Peppermint is a commanding figure, a sentinel of sweet justice wrapped in the crisp chill of winter resolve. His armor gleams with a polished red and white swirl, like a perfectly crafted peppermint candy. Every surface of his frame seems sculpted from hardened sugar and crystalline frost, a cold yet comforting sight to his allies on the battlefield. Round peppermint discs are embedded in his shoulders and forearms, their gleam catching the light like frozen shields of justice. The air around him always carries the scent of mint, and a faint, ethereal chime follows in his footsteps like wind through icicles.

In alt mode, he transforms into a sleek, semi-truck styled like a classic holiday delivery vehicle, complete with peppermint-wheeled tires that leave frost trails in his wake. His headlights pulse with a soft cyan glow, and his exhaust releases a cooling mist rather than smoke. Even in motion, Optimus Peppermint exudes calm command and quiet strength.

Despite his icy motif, Optimus Peppermint's spark is warm with compassion. He speaks with clarity and conviction, a deep voice tinged with the soothing quality of a snowy evening. He rarely raises his voice, for his very presence commands attention. His leadership is rooted in a cool-headed wisdom, guiding his fellow Autobons not with fear, but with inspiration and unwavering belief in their shared cause. To him, freedom is not just a right—it is the very flavor of existence, and it must be preserved at all costs.

He views the conflict with the Decepticorns as a painful corruption of what once was—a rivalry born of sweetness turned sour. Among them, Megatwix stands as his greatest regret. Once allies, even friends, they now embody opposing ideals: one driven by control, the other by liberation. Optimus bears this burden silently, his eyes reflecting not hatred, but sorrow.

With his peppermint staff that doubles as an ion blaster, and his frost-forged armor that deflects heat and chaos, Optimus Peppermint strides into battle like a blizzard of justice. His presence invigorates those around him, cooling panic, sharpening focus, and bringing hope even in the darkest sugar-coated storms. He is not just a warrior—he is a symbol, a confection carved from resolve and compassion.

Optimus Peppermint does not fight because he desires war. He fights because he must. Because someone has to be the calm in the whirlwind, the clarity in the confusion, the refreshing strength at the heart of the storm. And he is that strength. Unshaken, unwavering, unmistakably peppermint.

His relationship with the other Autobons:

Optimus Peppermint’s relationships with his fellow Autobons are shaped by his unshakeable sense of responsibility, tempered with empathy and a mentor-like patience. Though he stands at the helm of their cause, he does not see himself as above them—only as the one willing to carry the heaviest weight for the sake of many. Each Autobon has a distinct bond with him, and together they form more than a team—they are a confectionary coalition of loyalty, trust, and resilience.

With Bumblegum, Optimus Peppermint is equal parts father figure and patient handler. Bumblegum's youthful energy and impulsive nature often remind Optimus of the importance of hope and levity in a world at war. Though he sometimes has to rein in the younger Autobon’s enthusiasm, Optimus secretly cherishes Bumblegum’s bright spirit and sees him as the heart of their group.

Arcreme is one of the few Autobons Optimus treats as an equal in both command and respect. He values her fierce determination and unflinching loyalty, often consulting her during missions. They share a silent understanding born of shared burdens—warriors who must wear both strength and grace in equal measure.

Hot Rolo tests Optimus’s patience more than once, thanks to his arrogance and penchant for showboating. Still, Optimus recognizes the potential behind the bluster and gently nudges Hot Rolo toward maturity. Their dynamic is often one of push and pull—Optimus offering guidance, Hot Rolo resisting, then gradually learning.

With Wheeljell-o, the relationship is built on mutual respect and long-standing camaraderie. Wheeljell-o’s inventions and volatile experiments may cause chaos, but Optimus knows his heart is always in the right place. He often acts as a voice of calm when Wheeljell-o becomes frustrated with failures or setbacks.

Ratchups is perhaps the closest thing Optimus has to a confidant. The two share a deep trust built over countless battles. Ratchups’ blunt honesty and dry wit provide Optimus with the rare opportunity to lower his guard. Though their personalities differ, they understand each other on a fundamental level as survivors and protectors.

Optimus has a great deal of reverence for Alpha Toffifee, viewing him as both a mentor and a relic of a nobler time. While they differ in approach—Optimus being more pragmatic—he honors Alpha Toffifee’s wisdom and often seeks his counsel in moments of moral ambiguity.

His relationship with Jetflake is marked by mutual admiration. Jetflake’s bravery and idealism inspire those around him, and Optimus trusts him with the most high-risk aerial missions. Their camaraderie is quiet but unshakable.

With Jazzeight, there’s a refreshing ease. Jazzeight’s cool composure and charm allow for more casual interactions, giving Optimus a rare chance to unwind slightly, even amidst chaos. He enjoys their philosophical conversations on peace, rhythm, and survival.

Blurzzard’s rapid-fire chatter can wear on Optimus, but he appreciates the scout’s relentless spirit and tireless energy. In quieter moments, Optimus gently reminds Blurzzard to slow down and savor the stillness—peppermint wisdom against a flurry of words.

Windbounty is someone Optimus deeply trusts in delicate or diplomatic situations. Her calm, thoughtful approach resonates with his own ideals, and he sees her as a future leader. Their conversations are often quiet, introspective, and shared in flight.

Sundae Prime is both a legacy and a challenge. As another former leader, Sundae Prime often offers unsolicited advice. Optimus listens respectfully, even when he disagrees, recognizing the weight of leadership carried in both their cores.

With Proworeo, the connection is logical and tactical. Optimus values his methodical mind and leans on him during planning. Though Proworeo is strict and rule-bound, Optimus helps temper that rigidity with perspective and empathy.

Bluestraw, with his melancholy optimism, reminds Optimus of the cost of war. Their conversations often veer into philosophical territory, with Optimus acting as a grounding force against Bluestraw’s wistful nature.

Sideswiss brings levity to the team, and while Optimus rarely joins in the banter, he silently appreciates Sideswiss’s ability to lift spirits. He’s had to lecture him more than once, but only because he cares.

With Trailbutter, Optimus shares a bond of quiet strength. Both prefer action over words, and their interactions are brief but meaningful. Trailbutter is someone he trusts with silent missions and difficult choices.

Grimlava poses a unique challenge. As a force of nature, Grimlava often acts without consulting anyone. Still, Optimus respects his power and sense of justice, working to keep his destructive tendencies pointed in the right direction.

Elita Orange is perhaps the one who knows him best. Their bond goes beyond the battlefield, forged in shared ideals and deep emotional understanding. When Optimus doubts himself, it’s often Elita who restores his certainty.

Lastly, Runsicles holds a special place in Optimus’s spark. While others may not understand the quiet medic’s abstract insight, Optimus sees the wisdom in his cooling stillness. He often confides in Runsicles when the burden of command becomes too heavy.

Together, these relationships form the core of Optimus Peppermint’s leadership—each Autobon a distinct flavor, and together, a harmonious blend of sweetness, strength, and unity in the face of bitter conflict.